The Thanalan sun was sinking low, painting the desert in copper fire. Zack Fair trudged along the road with his bastard sword slung lazily over one shoulder, whistling tunelessly to himself. Horizon was behind him now, its caravan safe, its people alive. Jenlyns would probably say he'd passed his first test as a Paladin. Zack didn't care about titles—he cared that no one had died. That was enough.
He was halfway through debating whether to find another caravan job or head back to Ul'dah when he heard the shouting. High, panicked, desperate voices carried across the sands. Zack's grin faltered, and his boots pounded the road before he even thought about it.
The scene unfolded in a storm of dust. A small band of young adventurers were hemmed in by a pack of monsters—jackals with glowing red eyes, twisted spriggans, even a hulking sand golem dragging itself from the dunes. Twenty, maybe more. Far too many for four green adventurers to handle.
"Hold formation!" the gladiator in front shouted, his bronze blade shaking as he parried a jackal's lunge.
"Easy for you to say!" snapped the archer, loosing an arrow that went wide. "They're everywhere!"
The thaumaturge hurled fire that fizzled in the sand, sweat streaming down her brow. The conjurer at the back was chanting frantically, her staff trembling, the glow of her healing spell weak against the tide of wounds.
Zack didn't hesitate. With a wild laugh he vaulted into the fray, his bastard sword blazing in the last light of the sun. One slash cleaved a jackal in two. A second sent a spriggan scattering in sparks of aether.
"Hope you don't mind some company!" Zack shouted, planting himself in front of them like a wall. "Name's Zack, and I'll be your shield tonight!"
The four stared at him in shock.
"Who is this lunatic?" the archer muttered, nocking another arrow.
"Reckless idiot," the gladiator growled, though his eyes widened with relief all the same.
Zack grinned, parrying a blow meant for the thaumaturge and countering with a brutal upward slash. "Reckless? Nah. Just experienced!"
The monsters surged, but Zack's blade met them head-on. He fought like a storm, no shield to guard him, yet somehow every swing cut the path away from the younger adventurers and back toward him. Claws raked his arm, a stone fist slammed against his side, but he laughed, shaking off the blows. His sword shimmered faintly with holy light, instinctive, untrained, but undeniable.
"Keep shooting!" he barked at the archer. "You—fire harder! Don't think, just burn! And you—heal me if I drop, otherwise save it for your friends!"
For a moment, they obeyed without thinking. Arrows found their mark. Fire roared truer. Healing light steadied a wounded gladiator. Zack wove between them, sword and laughter both unshakable.
The sand golem raised its massive arms and brought them down with earth-shattering force. Zack leapt, sword glowing, and split the blow in half, the impact exploding in a spray of stone. The shockwave sent him sprawling, but he rolled to his feet with a bark of laughter.
"Now that," he said, wiping blood from his lip, "was fun!"
The young gladiator stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You're insane!"
"Yeah," Zack said, raising his sword again. "But you're still alive, right?"
Together, the five cut down the last of the pack. Dust settled. Silence fell, broken only by panting breaths and the crackle of fading aether. The four adventurers collapsed to the sand, trembling with exhaustion.
Zack leaned on his sword, grinning. "Not bad, huh? You kids aren't half bad yourselves."
The archer scowled. "We're not kids."
"Could've fooled me," Zack said with a wink.
The thaumaturge glared but smiled despite herself. The conjurer whispered a quiet thanks, her hands still trembling. The gladiator sheathed his battered blade and straightened, meeting Zack's eyes. "We would have died without you."
Zack shook his head. "Nah. You just needed a little backup. You've got guts. All of you. Reminds me of some friends I used to know." He rested his sword on his shoulder and studied them with a thoughtful grin. "But you need a name. Can't go running around the desert without one."
The four exchanged wary glances. "A name?"
"Sure," Zack said. "You're a new dawn, right? Just starting out, but bright, ready to cut through the dark. You're the Dawn Blades."
They blinked, surprised. The conjurer's lips curved in a shy smile. The thaumaturge tilted her head, testing the sound of it. The archer raised a brow but said nothing. The gladiator gave a short nod.
"Dawn Blades," he repeated quietly.
Zack clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stagger. "See? Has a ring to it! Now don't go getting yourselves killed before that name means something."
He turned away, raising a hand in farewell.
"Wait," the conjurer called after him. "Who are you, really?"
Zack paused, looking back with his grin softened. "Just Zack."
Then he strode into the desert, his silhouette swallowed by the glow of the setting sun. Behind him, four young adventurers sat in the sand, repeating the name to themselves—Dawn Blades—as if it might make them stronger.
Neither side knew the truth of the other. Zack thought them ordinary adventurers. They thought him an ordinary sellsword. And yet, in that fleeting clash, something brighter had been kindled.
The desert wind carried Zack's laughter away, rolling across the dunes, toward whatever waited next.